


it's so hard to get through the day

by BlueKappa



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Depression, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Intrusive Thoughts, Suicidal Thoughts, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Has Mental Health Issues, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Whump, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake-centric, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueKappa/pseuds/BlueKappa
Summary: Tim is depressed and is having a rough time dealing with it.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	it's so hard to get through the day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vent fic please do not read if this is triggering for you.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: suicidal thoughts, in detail depression symptoms (some symptoms may overlap as anxiety symptoms), intrusive thoughts

Every day, Tim opens his eyes and wished they had stayed closed. Every day, he stares at the wall across his bedroom and wonders if he’s going to make it out of bed that day. 

His brain screams at him, viciously and hissing with excitement, like it knows he’s too weak and is ready to torment him. 

_You can’t do it. You can’t do it. Don’t get out of bed. It’s not worth it. Just stay in bed. You can’t do it._

And most days Tim listens to the voices but sits up anyway and attempts to get ready for the day. Today was one of those lucky, lucky days. He ignores the way tears prick his already puffy eyes and the pull of just laying down on the floor and not getting up.

Some days, the voices go away or at least quiet down. Others, they get louder and more forceful until they are thudding in his head and dragging down his heart and are so violent he can barely stand it and they're right, they're right and all he wants to do is go back to bed and not exist and-

He’s a little fuzzy on how he got to the kitchen, but he’s at the coffee machine, pouring a cup for himself. He stares at it. He takes a slow sip. The warmth of the coffee does not thaw him, nor does it help him feel anything. More awake, or sad, or happy, or anything at all. The ever-present numbness mocks him. He pours the full mug down the drain. He didn’t want to be awake right now anyway. Would he ever feel anything other than pure exhaustion again? Nothing made him happy anymore, or sad really. How much longer was this going to last? Or better yet, how much longer could he take it?

_Where are the sleeping pills located? How many would he have to take to..._

He glances at the slow-ticking clock. It’s late morning, almost noon. Everybody must have already started their day. Except for him.

_It's because you're useless, so so useless, and weak, and you should end it now, Tim, END IT NOW-_

Tim wasn’t sure if his day had started or already ended. He sat at the counter for a while, staring at the empty cup, tears pooling in his eyes. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand why the tears were coming when he felt empty and dull. 

The trek back to his room felt long. So long and difficult that halfway there he just stopped. His legs betrayed him, giving out underneath him and causing him to fall to the floor. He stayed there, zoning in on one random spot on the floor for what felt like hours. The thoughts took this moment of vulnerability and quiet to attack him without mercy. They laughed at him. Reveled in his pain and the power he was giving them by just sitting there and doing _nothing._ He couldn’t do this anymore. He didn’t want to, it wasn’t worth it.

_What if a criminal got in a lucky bullet?_

A creak signifying the front door opening broke his trance. Someone was home. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. He fought to stand and stumbled back to his room. It was almost laughable that just collapsing onto his bed felt like an accomplishment. A relief. 

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and stopped in front of his door. His lungs froze, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. Please, keep walking. Don’t stop, don’t come in. A knock. Tim didn’t answer which apparently didn’t stop the person, the door was pushed open anyway.

“Tim?”

Bruce. Please just _leave_. _I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping._

The bed dipped next to Tim, and a gentle hand combed through Tim’s hair.

_You don’t deserve it._

Tim knew he didn’t. He was worthless and didn’t do anything right. He couldn’t even get out of bed without crying. Why couldn't he be like Dick, who was friendly and loved by all? Or even Jason, filled with strength and confidence?

“Hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” Bruce sounded concerned. Why?

Oh. 

Tim was crying. _Again._ Tim wondered if it was actually crying or just leaking at this point. He didn’t feel sad per se. There really was no reason to cry. Everything was fine. He had a great life and great friends and an even better family.

_Would you even be missed? You don’t do anything for them anyway. You’re nothing to them._

He started sobbing. A deep agony tinged in his wrecked hiccups. 

“Oh, buddy. Come here.”

The bed creaked and shifted as Bruce laid down and wrapped his strong arms around Tim’s small frame. 

“I’m sorry,” Tim managed through the hiccups and tears. God, it was so annoying. Tim didn’t even know _why_ he was apologizing. Sorry for being a useless son? Sorry for wasting your time? Sorry I forced myself into your life and made you stuck with me? 

_Would you like me better if I left? Would I finally be enough if you didn’t have to deal with me anymore?_

“Sh, it’s okay, Tim. I’m here okay? I’ll always be here for you,” Bruce murmured firmly against Tim’s forehead. Tim shook his head. Bruce didn’t understand.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Tim mumbled against Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce, however, just continued to rub Tim’s back gently and hold him tight.

“I know, son. It’s not fair that you have to be so strong.” Bruce wiped Tim’s tears achingly gentle with his thumb and rested his cheek against Tim’s forehead. “But you’re not alone. You have so many people in your corner who love you.”

  
The words were nice, and Tim knew logically that his whole family and even friends were there to support him, but he couldn’t shake the lonely feeling that plagued his very being and danced across his skin. It _hurt_ and _ached_ and he wanted it to stop.

_He’s wrong. You’re alone, alone, alone, alone-_

“Even Damian?” He whispered instead of sharing his darkest thoughts. Bruce's deep chuckles vibrated against Tim’s body.

“Even Damian.”

Silence filled the air but Tim felt himself growing uncomfortable in his father’s arms. The arms around him were long and suffocated, and all he wanted was to be alone.

“Could I please be alone?”

Bruce hesitated for a fraction of a second but nodded and untangled himself from his son. “Of course, sweetheart. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Tim curled in on himself, ignoring his father’s concerned look. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. The door shut quietly as Bruce left, leaving Tim alone in the cold, forlorn atmosphere with his thoughts. He pulled the blanket further around himself as all the hate and doubt pushed full force at the barriers in his mind. He let them in, let them drown him. It was too hard to fight them anymore. All he could think about for the next few hours was how long it would take his body to reach the ground if he jumped off a building.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah?


End file.
